Darcy Devereux and the Security Service

Chapter 1

As my flight from Chicago to London touched down, lingering vestiges of my chaotic adventures floated in my mind. The hunt for Orbis was still on while I recovered from my brain surgery and years of darkness, and my friends in Chicago continued their dull school lives without me. Maurice was still presumed dead and his assassin Viktoria Wright was missing.

I sighed. For once I had to face one of the greatest feats that had escaped me: living a normal peaceful life.

With Orbis over one shoulder and British Intelligence over the other, my brother included, it would a feat.

At 6 am, Ambrose and I passed through Heathrow’s security. Busy. Loud. Annoying. Long. Without out my medicine, I’d have been suffering a bad migraine. Airports were a cornucopia for sensory overload, and I decided I hated them almost as much as I did hospitals and the word ‘classifed.’

Once past the bag checks, we stepped out toward the doors, and a brunette in a long wool coat jumped into my brother’s arms. “Ambrose!”

I flinched.

“Stanzi.” Ambrose smiled.

Ah, yes, my brother’s future fiancée, Constance. “I’ve missed you like crazy.” She squeezed him.

“As have I.” He pecked her lips.

She turned to me beaming. “And you must be Darcy.”

“Er, yes.” Only Ambrose called me Fitz.

“It’s nice to meet you after all this time. Ambrose always sounds so fond and proud of you.”

“Ah.” I blushed.

Ambrose tousled my hair. “Well. Let’s go home, hm?”

Constance tossed Ambrose the keys to his forest green Mustang. I settled in the backseat and texted Luke we’d landed safely. Then my Blackberry rang not a minute later. Luke video-called. In the dim light, I could see his mussed hair and squinting eyes.

“Luke?”

“Heey, Darce, how was the flight?”

“Eh, slept through it. Like a cat.” I huffed. “I sleep so much these days I might as well be one.”

“Or an armor suit full of kittens.”

“What? Take that back.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“‘cause it’s true.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled. “It’s weird not seeing you at school anymore.”

“Mhh.”

“No more murder, Morse code, and mystery.”

I sighed. “At least we still have Les Trois Cerveaux during lunch.”

“And your lectures.”

“Ah, well, you and Lucy are the only one who are interested in them.”

“What’s next?”

“I was thinking Aristotle and Star Wars.”

“How are those two even related?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Mmh. At least it’ll only be six weeks till Christmas.”

“Ugh, six weeks too long.”

“Six week of chem lab with Larry.”

“Ugh. He’s always hijacks the projects and insults you while he does it wrong. I don’t know how I make it through class.”

“At least you know how to pronounce pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.”

He laughed. “I’m sure I’m the only one besides you in that school who can.”

“Cursing in chemist was so much more productive.”

“And fun.” Luke yawned again. “If we weren’t related, Lucy would be a good chem partner.”

“She would.”

He sniffed as if withholding another yawn.

“You should sleep.”

“Sleep’s boring.”

“That’s my line.” I grinned.

“And English belongs to the people.”

I shook my head in amusement. “Lucy’s out of it I take it.”

“I’m jealous. She always sleeps like a rock.”

“Or at least I usually do when I don’t have music on the brain in hyper-drive.” Lucy wandered into the room with a yawn of her own.

“Hello, hello, hello. Looks who’s up.”

She plopped by Luke. “How have you sleeping since... everything?”

“Oh, rough, but varies. At least I don’t wake up alone anymore.” I glanced at Ambrose. My brother and Constance were catching up, and he wore different sort of smile I hadn’t seen him wear before. “And you?”

“Oh, same old. Bombs exploding and faked assassinations.”

“Being kidnapped.”

I grimaced. “Yeah.”

“He’s also worrying about his calculus exam.”

“Oh, come on. You know everything by now.”

“The numbers are scary. They keep taunting me.”

“Did you get the chocolate?”

“%100 dark. It’s bitter, but I eat a lot of lemons, so no problem, I guess. Hope it works.” He yawned.

“It won’t if you don't go to sleep.” Lucy nudged him.

“You go to sleep.”

“I just woke up.”

“So did I.”

“You’re annoying.”

“At least I don’t accidentally steal people’s wallets when I’m tired.”

“Okay, that was one time on reflex, and I gave it back.”

I snickered. “Wow. Just the one?”

“Shut up. I have blackmail material on both of you.”

“We all do technically.”

“Who are you talking to?” Constance whispered.

“Luke and Lucy,” Ambrose mentioned.

“Ohh.”

“Say hi?” I turned the phone around.

She chuckled. “Hello?”

“Hey, who’s that?” Luke said.

“That would be my girlfriend.” Ambrose glanced back.

“Oh, wow, hey.”

“I love your makeup, by the way,” Lucy quipped.

“Thank you.”

Ambrose pecked Constance’s hand.

“Ambrose, on a scale of one to ten, how bad is Darcy’s bed head?” Luke clicked his tongue.

“Hey.” I ran my hands through my hair.

“Don’t worry, Darcy. You look ruggedly handsome,” Lucy said.

Ambrose turned back. “It looks fine.”

“Ha.”

“So six?”

“Okay, six?” I leaned over and looked at him.

Constance nudged his shoulder.

“Hey, I’m driving.” He laughed.

“It’s a four,” she quipped good-humouredly.

“To be fair, his is a five at least, so he can’t judge accurately, and yours is an eight.” I gestured at my friend.

“That’s true,” Ambrose called out to Luke.

“Ambrose, you can’t even see me.”

“Exactly.”

“Ouch.”

“Oooh, someone call an ambulance for that three-degree burn.”

“Shut it.”

“You shut it.”

“I’m your brother’s best friend.”

“And I have your father on speed dial. Does he know you two are up?”

“I’m going to sleep.” Luke plopped back onto the bed, out of view.

“Ha, mission accomplished.” Lucy grinned.

Constance giggled. “You two are ridiculous.”

“I’ll let you go back to sleep too. You have that concert coming up.”

Lucy sighed. “Let’s hope my brain stops mentally practicing piano and re-analyzing my pieces.”

“Fair.”

She yawned. “Well, good night, Darcy. Here’s your phone, Luke.”

“Night.”

My thoughts drifted as the sun climbed higher above the horizon as the country merged into the city. The buildings were brick and glass, colorful palettes, full of history. The cars were rude, but then again morning traffic was chaos.

Ambrose dropped off Constance at her flat before parking by a tea shop in Westminster. A woman in teal, whom I recognized from the airport, enjoyed a croissant while she walked her dog. An odd coincidence, but I shook it off.

“Come along, Fitz.” My brother got of the car, walking down the block.

“Where are we going?” I strode after him.

“You’ll see.” He slowed his pace for me as we ambled two blocks down.

“Very enlightening.”

We turned left into an abandoned alley. A dove cooed and fluttered over my head. Ambrose observed the bricks. “Let’s see if I remember— Ah.” He pressed a pair of bricks in combination with another one further to the left, and the wall revolved to reveal and metal elevator.

“Woah.”

“We need to be quick in case we’re followed.”

I staggered in. He lay back against the wall ankle crossed behind him. The doors shut, and the elevator descended. The light buzzed. The musty air stifled my lungs. Odd place. What were we doing?

“We’re meeting Stevie and Harrow here.”

“MI5 and MI6? Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“So something big.”

The doors opened on a brick tunnel lighted with yellow hanging lights. “Here we are.” Ambrose walked out. After checking the tunnel, he whistled the first five notes of ‘Shave and a Haircut.’ His voice echoed until it became as loud as the silence. Then another voice to complete the tune echoed back. Footsteps sounded. Two people came into view: both with fine lines in their features and streaks of grey hair, there was a well-dressed woman with a warm countenance, and a prim man with the air of an eagle.

“Ambrose, it’s been an age,” Stevie said.

“It’s nice to be home.” My brother nodded.

“Darcy. A pleasure.”

“Hi.”

“Good to have you back, Ambrose.” Harrow shook hands with Ambrose.

“Good to be back.”

Harrow moved to shake my hand. “Darcy, we’ve heard great things.”

“Likewise.” Not that I’d heard anything. I kept my hands in my pockets.

Ambrose shook his head.

He dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “Apologies for the secrecy, but I thought it’d be more discrete to meet anywhere else than headquarters. If Orbis snuck a mole into the FBI, I don’t doubt he has a spy in almost every government or intelligence agency. Best to keep them as much in the dark as possible.”

“Understandably.”

I looked around. It was dim, damp, musty. “Nice part of town too.”

“In light of the Chicago operation” – Stevie looked amongst us – “clearly, we’ve only just begun to get an upper hand on the syndicate. We have no information on this mysterious ally that has suddenly popped up on our radar, but they will no doubt reveal themselves in due time. Until then, you’re our best asset.”

“You hear that, Ambrose? I’m an asset,” I murmured.

He nudged me, biting back smile.

Harrow continued. “Darcy, having watched your uncle run the syndicate, you’re one of our only chances at taking Orbis down. Thus from now on you and Ambrose will work together to build a web of this syndicate. The two of you ordinarily wouldn’t be working together, since you’re family, but this is an extenuating circumstance and the less people know about this operation the better. We can’t risk a repeat of Chicago.”

“Right.” I was relieved they hadn’t stuck me with some stranger as my handler. Ambrose could be irritating at times, but I trusted him, and he could be fun when he wanted to be.

“As for your friends, they may have gotten involved before, but they are a liability, so for their safety and yours, anything you do or see in relation to your work must now remain classified. Understood?”

I sighed. Of course. The national secrets law.

Ambrose cleared his throat.

I glanced at my brother. “Yes, sir, I understand.” It would’ve been only Ambrose and me now. I trusted my brother but not the higher-ups of British Intelligence and the FBI. Or CIA. Everyone kept way too many secrets for me to trust them. At least my friends’ lives would be calmer than mine, not to mention safer. “What happens when Orbis gets tired of my interference and goes from merely watching me to threatening the people I know?”

“Simple. We fake your death, move you to a secure location, and make sure they’re protected.”

“Oh, my God, not you too.” Everyone wanted to fake my death.

Ambrose scratched his eyebrow. “I did tell you.”

“It is the best way,” Harrow continued, “to ensure the success of this operation while keeping you and your friends protected. We still have no trace of Viktoria Wright, but since intelligence agencies are now aware of her, I doubt we will see much of her again. However, there are more of her in the syndicate, and until Orbis and its affiliations are extinguished, we need to be careful. When it becomes too dangerous, you’d need to be a ghost agent, and no one, not even your friends would know that you’re alive. It would be too delicate to risk them accidentally revealing your death was faked.”

“Great. I like %90 of the plan. The other %10? Not so much. I can’t do it. Sorry.”

“Excuse me—”

“Fitz—”

“I understand it’s for security, but they’ve already gone through thinking I was dead once. I don’t think they could take another—”

“Fitzwilliam,” he murmured.

“I can’t lie to them! Not about that. It might...it might kill them. I don’t mean to be difficult, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“You won’t.” Harrow set his chin. “This is about national security, not your personal life. If it’s classified, then you’re bound to secrecy. They don’t need to know. Besides, I think they might forgive the deception considering their safety as well as yours will have counted on it.”

“I’m more concerned about how much it would affect them than how it would affect me.”

“Well, Darcy, your friends' lives or their feelings. Your choice. You can’t protect both.”

“Oh, I’ll try.”

“Fitz, please.”

Stevie harrumphed. “What Harrow means is: we understand how difficult this is to process. But no matter how much you trust your friends, Orbis won’t hesitate to go through them to get to you. And if Orbis finds out, it will kill them. I can’t imagine you would take the smallest chance.”

“How long?”

“Best case scenario, three to five years.”

“Best case,” I scoffed. “Maurice doesn’t do best case.”

“Fitz—”

“You act as if he’s still alive.” Harrow raised an eyebrow.

Ambrose looked at me.

“Oh, believe me. When he was Ambrose’s age, Maurice was chased by three drug cartels in Argentina. Playing dead is not new to him. I couldn’t even be convinced if I had a face ID and DNA. He’s impersonated three people, one of them a prime minister.”

Ambrose pulled a perplexed expression.

“He could be you. He could be anyone. Well— he’d have a limp from when I shot him twice in the leg.” I analyzed Harrow’s posture and then straightened with a nod. “I think we’re safe.”

“Thank God,” Ambrose deadpanned.

“Is he serious?” Harrow huffed.

“Sometimes.”

“My point is he may be dead. He may be alive. I wouldn’t hold my breath. Worst case is the most likely case, so let’s focus there and save positivity for the sunflowers.”

Ambrose pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well, it might take 10 years, maybe more,” Harrow stated. “We have been after him since the 80s.”

“Well, I wasn’t there in the 80s.”

“You’re overconfidence is appalling.”

“Thanks, I practice.”

“Can we get on?” Stevie sighed.

“What about Ambrose?”

She pursed her lips.

Harrow looked aside.

“Wow. That bad?”

“He would remain in contact with you as needed to continue dismantling Orbis, but you would never see each other until it’s safe as Orbis would be watching him as well. Contact would be as discrete as possible, through an agent unaware of the operation or its constituents.”

I froze. Bad enough I’d need to alienate my friends again, without knowing when I’d be back or how to tell them, if I’d come out alive. Now Ambrose wouldn’t be there either. I’d be another voice in the abyss delivering intel through multiple layers of communication. I’d be alone. Again.

“Fizzy,” Ambrose whispered.

I shook myself. “What if we destroy Maurice’s syndicate before that happens?”

Harrow rose his brow. “Sorry?”

“Highly improbable, but not impossible.” Stevie cocked her head.

“I wouldn’t count on it, though. You said his syndicate is international with numerous clients in his backing, dead or alive.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Any other questions or concerns?”

“Many. But none of them would improve this situation, so I think we’re done.”

Ambrose rolled his eyes.

“All right, then. This meeting is now concluded. Your brother will debrief you when you’ve settled. Ambrose, we’ll talk once you get in later.”

“Of course.”

He nodded in salute and turned on his heel.

Stevie offered a sympathetic smile.

Their steps echoed in the tunnel as they departed.

Then Ambrose and I took the elevator.

“That went well.”

“Charming.” Ambrose crossed his arms.

“Almost fun.”

“Oh, yes, you couldn’t say a word for ten seconds.”

I snorted. “You know I never approved of this plan. For some reason, I had some ridiculous idea I could play by my own rules and keep some semblance of a life. Instead, I feel cornered.”

The doors opened.

He closed them back.

“What—”

“Faking your death might not even be necessary for years, if at all, and thinking about an outcome that hasn’t happened yet won’t do any good in taking Orbis down. Yes, it’s restricting to work within the law sometimes, but the laws are there for a reason, and we can’t take down the syndicate by ourselves.”

“I wish I could at least tell them.”

“But you can’t.”

“Ambrose—”

He raised his hand.

I closed my mouth.

“You think it’s not difficult I can’t tell Constance or anyone I know about this?”

“No, I—”

“The woman I love and intend to marry still thinks I work for INTERPOL, even though she should be my confidant. When she asks how my day was I can’t even say anything remotely near the truth. I need to be vague.”

I fidgeted.

“It’s a compromise I need to make because of job I chose. I don’t like it, but I understand it. We’re lucky that they thought it better to work together than assign someone else. We’re in this together. However, if we go off the rails, we might not be. We need to play it safe and make sure they don’t think you’re a liability, which means no shenanigans.”

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

I sighed.

“You can walk out of this, you know. You don’t need to get involved, neither are you expected to, much less alone.”

“I thought the door closed on that ages ago.”

“I mean, until Kasim decides on his revenge, you can keep your distance.”

“What difference would that make?”

“No secrets. No politics. Less worries. There’s a whirlwind in your mind with a million things. Maurice, school, a new city, a new life, healing from your old one. If you chose, you can stay out for a while. Live a little before you disappear.”

“Sounds like you prepared this.”

“It wouldn’t be a stretch to say I’ve thought about it the past month. This isn’t something to take lightly.”

“Why did you let me get involved then?”

“You were involved, whether or not I let you. Either way I think you should have a say in how you’re involved. The past years have left their mark on you, and you are still very young. You shouldn’t need to worry about taking down criminals and collecting classified information, faking your death. I want to you to have a choice like I did. If you do stay in the thick of it, the only condition on you getting involved is your health, nothing more. Either way, you have my support and my ear.”

“Thank you. You don’t need to worry about me, though.”

“I can’t help being concerned. I’m your big brother. It’s what I do.”

I huffed in amusement.

“No need to decide right now, of course.”

“I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

“All right.”

I rubbed my neck. “Am I really a liability?”

“Well—”

“It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.”

He scratched his head. “To my superiors, yes. To me, it’s complicated. In Chicago, your actions were very emotionally charged when you broke protocol. I had plausible deniability, so they know nothing of my involvement. Although, I was your liaison, so it’s not very good for me either, but you technically went rogue, stole federal evidence, and escaped federal custody. If we hadn’t caught anyone, I’m not sure where we’d be.”

“So they think I could be dangerous, and you what? Agree? Disagree—”

“One can only pull the ‘desperate times, desperate measures’ card so many times. They see you as a tad unstable, and back there you showed you have little to no respect for politics and rules, so in such a way, you’re a liability. Not because you can’t handle yourself, but because you like to handle yourself outside government purview. I know you did what you had to do. We did what we had to do. Although the last part of the plan was not to my knowledge.”

“I changed my mind in the end.”

“I know. Fitz, you are a liability because you’re formidable enough to cause trouble and honorable enough to bend the rules. Dealing with Orbis, those are not bad traits. Dealing with the government?” Ambrose raised an eyebrow.

“Right. Good thing they don’t know everything about Chicago.”

“Is it?”

“Better one of us on their radar than two.”

“Hmm.” Ambrose opened doors, and we walked back to the car.

The Mustang purred as he turned the key in the ignition. I delved into my mind, missing the journey through the roads and alleys. We reached a block of Victorian-style brick houses with a sign reading Queen Anne’s Gate in red letters. People walked about as if they had busy lives to attend to. Sirens echoed in the city.

“This is it.” Ambrose slipped out and opened the trunk. ‘It’ was a townhouse, no. 25 with a black door, gilded knocker, brick walls, and large white windows with mustard velvet drapes.

“This is home?”

“Our grandparents’ from Mummy’s side. Left behind with a trust to pay property taxes and bills. I haven’t lived here in years, unlike your cousins.”

“I have cousins?”

“Distant ones. You’re about to meet your fourth cousin, Alice Evergreen, and her uncle, George Pole, your third cousin once removed.”

“Why did you decide to move?”

“Amongst other things, I had a one bedroom before, so I would’ve needed to move anyway. But I thought it’d be nice to have more family around. Which reminds me.” He dug into his pocket. “Your pair of keys.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I added them to the key chain Lucy gave me. My new keys. To my own home. I looked at them with a fond pride. They were a form of responsibility and trust, a new milieu. I quirked my lips at the Les Trois Cerveaux engraving. A new start.

Ambrose unlocked the front door. “Are you coming?”

“Mh? Oh, yes, right behind you.” I looked about before going in. A dog disappeared around the corner.

Chapter 2

Persian rugs covered the receiving hall. A knight’s armor in the corridor glinted in the light of a crystal chandelier. Mahogany walls, floor, and furniture characterized the study and the rest of the house along with olive green velvet and leather. Large windows showered ample light. Electro-swing on vinyl blared in the living room behind an oak door.

“George!” Ambrose called out.

“In here!”

We strolled into the study. George was about my brother’s age with brown slicked-backed hair and thin reading glasses. He put down a book as we entered.

“Ambrose. It’s been a long time.” George hugged Ambrose and clapped his back.

“Good to see you, George.”

“Darcy, right?”

“Hi, yes.”

“Well, Alice is in her bubble before school. Hence the loud music in the living room.” George went into the living room and peeked the door open.

Alice Evergreen shifted her feet to the Charleston with contagious rhythm and black knee books. Short curly red hair bounced in the air. Her suede emerald sundress swirled. Alice snapped her fingers and moved in tandem with her feet. Alice was in another world. She was another world.

As the beat dropped, she slid to the end as the trumpet crooned, and then the saxophone cascaded in a blues scale as the music faded. She bent over as she caught her breath. “Whew.”

“Alice. Still dancing I see.”

“Ames!” She rushed over and hugged Ambrose. “You said two weeks. It’s been forever.”

“It has. But as consolation, I’ve returned with my brother.”

“Finally. Hello.” She grinned. “I’m Alice.”

“Hi, er, Darcy. Nice moves.”

“You dance?”

“All my life.”

“I’m intrigued. What can you read from me?”

“Sorry?” I blinked.

“Ambrose said you can read people like him.”

“Did he, then? Well, it seems you have me at a disadvantage, Alice, since you seem to know more about me than I know about you.”

“Not true if you’ve been analyzing me the second you walked into this room.”

“Well, you’re right, but I’m afraid I must keep some secrets to myself, although I hardly think telling you about yourself would state much.”

“It would tell me something about you.”

“And as I said, aside from what you do know, I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of revealing more myself.” I smirked.

“I suppose I can appreciate that. Everyone wants to be a mystery yet they talk about themselves like they’re an encyclopedia.”

“True.”

“Mysteries intrigue, I suppose.”

“They also disguise.”

“Yes, but what would you be trying to disguise?” She peered at me.

Uh-oh. Gave myself away there a little. I leaned in and whispered, “At risk of repeating myself, you’ll have to figure that out yourself.” And with an enigmatic smile, I strode towards the kitchen.

“Well... that was entertaining.” George grabbed a book.

“Ha, yes, Fitz is full of surprises. Excuse me.” Ambrose joined me in the kitchen.

I poured myself some of the earl grey in the kettle and prepared toast with jam.

Ambrose watched me in curious silence.

I sat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. “What?”

“Tell me, then.”

“She’s from Lancashire and on her last year of school before heading onto Oxbridge. At first, she couldn’t decide between Cambridge and Oxford but recently chose the former. She’s adventurous, doesn’t care what other people think, has class and style, modest but not too modest, which means she respects herself but dresses for no one. She’s not afraid to be unique, and she can hold her own. Quick-witted, smart but obstinate and flighty.”

Ambrose threw his head back with a chuckle. “Well, well, well.”

“I take that as confirmation.”

“You got Lancashire from her ‘r’s and double ‘o’s. Discarded university catalogue in the bin near the record player and the Cambridge one sticking out of her backpack by the door. Everything else from her manner, clothes, wit, and her eyes.”

“Elementary, my dear brother.”

“It’s mostly right too, though I wouldn’t entirely base her personality on of your first impressions.”

“Lest I be prejudiced.”

“Hmm.” He tore a bit of bread. “And I would conclude that even though barely minutes have passed, you like her already.”

“She’s interesting.”

Ambrose prepared his own breakfast, making jam and butter on toast. I scarfed down a few pieces of toast with two cups of tea and a yogurt. I hadn’t had an appetite for a while. It was nice to have it back, even though it could go any second.

Alice passed through the kitchen. “George, I’m off!”

“Don’t forget your lunch.”

“Already done.” She grabbed a brown bag from the counter. “It was very nice meeting you, Darcy. I hope we’ll get to get more acquainted later on.”

“I suppose we’ll see.”

And with a jazzy hum and a dance, she swept herself out the door.

“She’s a bit like you in a small way.” Ambrose sipped his tea.

I cleared my throat. “Without the murky past.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ‘figure that out yourself.’”

“Ah—”

“Come on, we should unpack.” Ambrose strode out to the hall.

“Pfft, you’re no fun.”

“Like the time I helped you escape FBI custody?”

I snickered. “Fine, sometimes. Sometimes you’re no fun.”

He chuckled. “Oh, mail before I forget. Put these in your wallet.”

It was my new ID, passport, insurance card, debit card, and credit card for emergencies. “Nice.”

“As for the house, I’d give a tour, but we’re both tired out, so an overview, it is.”

“Okay, then.”

Ambrose and I got on a lift.

“There’s three floors and an attic. On the ground floor, we have the kitchen, living room, a huge library, and George’s study for work. He translates for companies and diplomatic meetings around the world. The first floor has a big dining room, a drawing room, and a terrace. No one uses it unless for parties and holidays. George’s room is on the second floor with some dressing rooms and an empty sitting room. Our bedrooms are on the second floor. Alice is on the fourth floor, which has two more bedrooms with another study and a small kitchen.

“Huge house.”

“Oh, yes.”

We stepped off.

The amount of stairs would’ve killed me, which made it fortuitous that there was a lift.

“Right. Which one’s my room, then?”

“Yours is on the left, mine on the right.” He rolled our suitcases into our respective rooms.

I wandered into my bedroom.

“Woahh.” Two large widows revealed a glimpse of St. James’ Park and hung over a brown desk and aligned with the bed from the left. A fireplace, a marble bathroom, and a large closet completed the room. I fell into the dark blue duvet on the bed. “Soft.”

My eyes fell on a stack of leather journals on the desk. All my old journals, drawings, and books had been obliterated in the explosion. Now I could pick up where I left of.

“What do you think?” Ambrose leaned on the door frame.

The last room I’d had had belonged to another distant relative, small, banged up, and musty. And the bed had been at least a decade old. But this? This was mine. It was new and mine. “It’s... my own room. I love it.”

“Good.”

“I like the notebooks.”

“I thought you would.”

I strolled toward the closet. Wood and mild yellow lights, cozy. No ties or belts. Just hats, graphic t-shirts, suits, and jeans. Nice array of shoes.

“Ambrose.”

“Hm?”

“I think I’m in love with the house.”

Ambrose ruffled my hair. “I’m glad it’s already feeling like home. We still have that appointment at the tailor’s this weekend to make further adjustment to the suits, but this is it.”

I flipped on a black fedora instead of my gentleman’s cap.

Ambrose chuckled. “I remember you sneaking into Daddy’s closet and stealing his hats.”

“Nice to have my own collection now. By the way, what do we have for today?”

He sighed. “Well, I need to go work. First day. We’ll have lunch with Constance, Stevie, and Matthew.”

“I remember.”

“Then I need to go back to the office. After that... Well, settling in, I suppose.”

I hung the hat. “And what about Orbis?”

He shrugged. “We’ll see. I know you’re tired from the flight, and it’ll be a lot to adjust to. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Right.” I rubbed my face. Ambrose wanted to take things slow, even though it was all I’d been doing for the past month and a half.

“Besides, my first day back in a while, I need to catch up and get a feel for it again. We’ll start tomorrow, maybe.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll let you unpack.”

I nodded.

Chapter 3

To think it was barely half past seven in the morning, and I was yawning even after I’d slept during the flight. My sleep hadn’t been very restful, though, so it wasn’t too mysterious.

The shower was warm. The towels were soft. The smell of pine and mint filled the air. It was nice to shave, especially since Ambrose had showed me properly.

He may not have been my father, but he’d taught me things that a father was supposed to: how to dress, how to shave, how to cut my hair and deal with messy emotions. He’d raised my for most of my life. And I didn’t remember much about our father to begin with since he’d been at work most of the time. I only knew I’d loved him before he left. Ambrose didn’t mind talking about him, but I didn’t know how to. It was like talking about a ghost.

I ran some gel through my hair to make a side-part fringe. It was unruly and never stayed put otherwise. I lightly ruffled it. There. I put the rest of my clothes away, threw on a polo shirt and jeans, and then headed downstairs. But lost in thought, I missed the last step and fell on my bottom with a swoop. I winced as I rubbed the spot. “You clodhopper.”

“Fitz, what are you”— Ambrose strode into the hall— “...doing on the floor?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.” He held out a hand and pulled me up.

“You all right?”

“The epitome of grace and beauty.”

He chuckled. “Well, try not to hurt yourself thinking, grace and beauty.”

“You try.” I rolled my eyes, heading to the kitchen for some water. In the study, George translated in a business meeting. It was odd still to experience a house that was quiet and yet peaceful. Walking around without holding my breath was odd. A house without a speck of bad memories was very odd. The food in the fridge was unusual but nice to see. My normal had been the opposite of others, as if I’d been living a life where my normal was others’ backward. Disorienting.

When I went back into the living room, I found Ambrose splayed haphazardly on the couch. His brow smoothed out, free of worry. Breaths came in slow soft puffs. His disheveled hair stuck out every which way, and one foot touched the floor as an arm dangled from the cushion.

I draped a blanket over him. He deserved the rest. I know not unlike me he hadn’t gotten enough, and he worried too much.

Now to find some way to amuse myself. And yet I didn’t want to wander about now. I needed something to pull me away from my head, from the memories. And there wasn’t much to do alone. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Ambrose lifted the blanket. “If you like.”

I climbed into the back of the couch and lay on my side, half on his chest. He adjusted his position, so there’d be room and wrapped an arm around me before rearranging the blanket. It was warm. Safe. With my friends in Chicago and all the newness here, Ambrose was the only normal thing present that didn’t overwhelm me.

Both exhausted from recent events, we both dozed off, forgetting about time even as the clock ticked. It was times like these, the quiet, I appreciated more than the noise. I needed all the peaceful memories I could hold on to.

Then Ambrose’s phone rang.

I sighed.

“Hello? Yes, the call is secure...”

I furrowed me brow. MI6.

“Yes, he’s with me. Why... This morning? What—” He glanced at me. “Did they succeed?” More silence. “Description....” I heard a murmur on the phone. “I see... Yes, of course. Let me know if you come up with anything.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s classified.” He drew his arm around me again.

“Pfft. Almost as bad as the word ‘hospital.’”

“Hmm.”

“Ambrose.”

“Hmm?”

“It involves me, doesn’t it?”

“Fitzwilliam.” He sighed.

“Well, if it does, I need to know, don’t I?”

“Not really. Everything’s fine I assure you.”

“But it’s not. Something happened and—”

“Someone will investigate.”

“Not you?”

“Not my division.”

“What is your division?”

He snorted. “You’re my division, all right?”

“Not entirely.”

“I’m not cleared to say anything else, and I’m too tired to discuss this. Please.”

“Okayyy. Pfft.”

He sighed.

“I don’t need to run, do I?”

“No, we have people watching in case anything happens, and unless it becomes too dangerous, you’ll remain here. It’ll be all right. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Then I’ll try to ensure it for as long as possible.”

I shifted closer.

He ran his hand through my hair.

Ambrose would never give me the details, but when he’d asked for the description, the answer had put him out of ease, even for him. He knew who’d done it. They were a threat, dangerous enough to rattle him.

We drifted off again before Ambrose’s alarm rang.

“I’m ready. I’m here. Get me the Lieutenant Colonel,” Ambrose blurted and rose.

I laughed. “Ambrose, you’re in London, not the army.”

He rubbed his eyes with a groan. “Obviously.”

“Why did you put an alarm?”

He dropped back again. “Jet-lag routine. Works every time. Nap half hour. Then sleep at the time zone. If I keep sleeping for ages, it’ll take a week to recover instead of a few days. And I still need to go to work.”

“Ah. Should’ve scheduled it for the day after, not the day of.”

“Perhaps.”

“Still.”

“You know, it’s not even noon, and I’m famished again.”

“Same.”

“Care to be sous chef once more?”

“Delighted.”

He swung himself off the couch and put on an old jazz vinyl album.

“Hmm.”

“Ahhh, looks like George went to the farmer’s market.” Ambrose opened the fridge.

“He knew we were coming.”

“Oh, there’s farmer’s bacon.”

I hummed. Cured bacon had chemical nitrates; uncured bacon had natural nitrates, aka celery juice to fast-cure. Traditional bacon? Farmers dry-rubbed it with coarse Himalayan salt, pepper, and paprika, cured it for two whole weeks, and then smoked it on low heat with sweet apple wood chips. That was bacon. “Mouth-watering.”

“Precisely.”

“Ohh, my favorite cheese. Toscano soaked in Syrah wine.” A special brand of pecorino from ewe’s milk. Creamy yet with a bite. Sweet. Nutty. The rind was... Wow. I cut a slice.

“Let’s see. Sourdough in the bread box.” Ambrose wandered to the pantry. “There’s macaroni in here.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That depends.”

“Mac and cheese with this cheese.”

“And grilled cheese with this mushroom brie and caramelised onions.”

I assumed a French accent. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Devereux brothers back again in kitchen and crazier than ever. Oh, what crimes they will commit against the culinary today.”

“Delicious crimes.” Ambrose grinned.

“Lanyard would be appalled.”

“No, I know he’d oddly agree. That’s a good sign of comfort food.”

“Well. Add bacon bits and I’m in.”

“Oh, God. Let’s cook already. I’m too hungry for this.”

“Have some more cheese.”

“I will.”

I filled the pot to boil the pasta and sprinkled salt in the water. “Fun fact: two months ago I found the perfect ratio of salt to water for boiling different quantities during an experiment.”

“You still do those?”

“They were fun when I was three. They’re still fun now.”

He snapped his fingers. “Remember the one with dead plants?”

“Oh, my God, yes. It drove the neighbors nuts. They thought their plants smelled that bad.”

He laughed. “They did, but the sulfur bomb didn’t help.”

I snickered. “Those were the days. Oh, we were rascals, weren’t we?”

“Yes, I dare say we were.”

The water simmered. I boiled the mac. He grated the cheese. We sampled some. Flour swirled. Milk splashed. Warm cheese sauce miraculously made it on the corner of my lip. It tasted awesome, especially with the paprika in there.

“Hmm. Ambrose?”

“What?” He took out the cornstarch.

I flicked a drop at him.

“Hey.” He wiped it off and wrinkled his nose.

I snickered.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” He squeezed the bag of cornstarch and powder flew in the air, covering my face... And his. We froze there for a moment.

“Crackers, Newton’s laws against us,” Ambrose whispered. “I wasn’t supposed to get covered too.”

I bent over in senseless laughter, and he followed.

“A little eyeliner and I think you’re ready to go to undercover at the circus.”

“Yes, well, the same goes for you.” He threw me a towel, and we cleaned up. He used the rest of the cornstarch for the sauce.

“The macaroni is done.”

“The cheese is creamy.”

“I stir. You pour.”

“Oui, chef.”

He chuckled.

The cheese streamed from the pot like the most delicious molten lava sauce to have ever touched pasta. Ambrose sprinkled the Toscano in a mesmerizing swirl. After popping it in the oven to get crispy in about half an hour, I turned on the stove again.

A kitchen never smelled better.

Ambrose diced the bacon.

“Okay, weird question, but...”

“Yes?”

“Why would someone have six ovens in their kitchen?”

He poured water over the bacon as it cooked on medium. It crisped the bacon and prevented the bacon fat from jumping, burning, and making a mess. “Either to cook multiple things at a time or use a variety of methods like wood-fire, electric, gas, convention, high-grade, or steam.”

“Oh. That’s a lot of ovens still... And well, they’re dust now, so it doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“If you say so.” Ambrose tossed the pan with an elegant maneuver known to chefs.

I whistled.

“Here. You try. All in the wrist.”

“If you say so.”

He shook his head in amusement. “Shut up and toss.”

I grabbed the pan, holding it an arms length and an eye shut, and trying to do what Ambrose had done. The bacon bits flew all right. “Woah. Frick.” It fell at my feet. “Sorry.” I flexed my fingers.

“Relax. It’s experimental bacon. We can clean up easily.”

I huffed. “I’m not doing that again.”

“Yes, you are. That’s what an experiment is. Mistakes are learning experiences. You can’t improve unless you keep making them and using them to your advantage. Here. I’ll do it with you.” He held it the pan with me and did the same forward-tossing motion. Perfect. “Relax. Slight sudden movements, like suggesting movement more than forcing it.”

“Yeah, it’s all right when you do it.”

“From practice.”

“Pfft.”

“All right, remember that feel and pretend you’re doing voicing a melody on the piano but follow through with your wrist light but quick. Short.”

“That’s oddly specific.” I narrowed my eyes.

“Try.” He gestured.

I sighed. “Fine.” Relaxed wrist, follow-through tenuto, light press. But fast. Smooth. I did so and the bacon... did not make it to the floor. I chuckled in relief. Easy. It wasn’t as fast, but... I was not as strong as I used to be.

“And that’s how you toss food in a pan.”

The demonstration had helped. “You still speak classical pianist.”

“Once a musician.” He smirked. “Next up, grilled cheese.” Ambrose brushed the butter over the slices of sourdough.

The music bounced in the background. I pressed the slices onto the griddle. And oh, how the sourdough sizzled. Sprinkle cheese. Flip. The crust cooked to a beautiful golden brown. Sliced brie draped itself over the crust and spilled onto the griddle. Divine.

The timer for the oven rang once we’d made six sandwiches and added the bacon. The mac and cheese had a warm color like a sunrise in the autumn.

“Ambrose, we are witnessing the birth of a new sandwich. The mac and cheese brie grilled sandwich. Sourdough with oozing tangy mushroom brie and caramelized onions grilled cheese sandwiched with crunchy mac and cheese made from Toscano soaked in Syrah wine.”

“You should start a food blog.”

I snorted. “You start a food blog.”

Ambrose and I dug into the elaborate lunch. Warm, melty, savoury, and crispy on account of the bread crust and seared bacon. Transcendent. Sauce coated my mouth, and I didn’t care to wipe it.

“Mmh, when were done with this whole syndicate business, we should open a restaurant and call it Les Frères Devereux.”

“Seconded.” Ambrose crunched another bite with a hum.

George grabbed a plate and tore a bite, no invitation needed.

I stifled a laugh. “Oh, by all means, George, you’re invited.”

“Thank you.”

“This is technically his food.” Ambrose chuckled.

“With which we assembled a kick-ass sandwich.”

“He’s not complaining.”

George gestured his mind being blown. “It is very good.”

We were three gourmets inaugurating the creation of the world’s greatest sandwich. What a moment.

Afterwards, Ambrose changed into a grey three-piece suit and headed to the front door. He shrugged on his overcoat and knelt down to tie his shoes the same way he’d taught me. “Well, I’ll be gone most of the day. But call me if something happens— or in general, I suppose. I just can’t pick up while I’m at work for security reasons. When I get in, I turn off my phone and hand it in at the door. Everything’s forwarded to a pager, though, so I’ll get it if its a message or a voicemail.” He rose. “Take it slow. You’re still recovering.”

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll pick you up for lunch at 12:30.”

“Okay.”

“You going to be all right?” He looked at me a tad concerned.

I shrugged. Being alone right now didn’t sit well with me either, but he couldn’t be around all the time. It wasn’t practical. So I said something else. “I don’t know. Might go a little mad. Start an crime ring.”

“All right, DiCaprio, sure.”

“Hey, shut up, go catch some people on tax fraud.”

“That’s not what I do, and you know it.” He chuckled.

“Sure, you don’t, James Bond.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not what I do, either.”

“Go, I’ll be okay. I’ll manage.”

“All right.”

I hugged him.

“I love you.” He squeezed me.

“I love you.” I stood back hands in my pockets. “Bye.”

He nodded and skipped down the stairs.

I leaned against the door as I watched the Mustang drive off again. And then once it was out of view it closed the door and sunk against it, mussing my hair and frowning at the carpet. It was clear his day would be booked with this morning’s meeting, the incident they phoned him about, and the work he’d paused while working abroad.

And my day? Unfortunately wide-open.

After my physical therapy, I shuffled along the paths in St. James Park. Birds chirped and bathed in the puddles. I wished I could be as carefree and happy as them. People ambled about with umbrellas over their heads. Geese honked, and ducks quacked as they fought over lettuce a stranger had thrown. I plopped down on a pile of leaves to rest. I couldn’t even walk more than 15 minutes without getting tired.

Feeling nostalgic, I played Ambrose’s voicemails from his Oxford years. Without school and not really having work... My mind defaulted to ruminating.

“Fizzy, I’m back from classes.” His voice sounded younger and less Oxbridge more Wisconsin-Aldershot. He was my age. “The lectures were curious. Oh, and you wouldn’t believe how many essays they have you write a week. In short, it is fantastic. Well... Sort of. It does feel odd to wake up and not have you jumping into my bed and yelling about milking the cows.” Good days. “I can’t decide whether I miss it. Hmm. Anyway, talk later I hope.”

It made me think about what it would be like when I got to university. So far away, yet I could almost touch it.

Next.

“Fitz, in hindsight, it occurred to me that teaching you everything might’ve been a bad idea since your school won’t skip you too far and now you’ll be bored... I didn’t entirely think it through, but perhaps, you might find it a small consolation if I wrote some emails about what I’m learning here. I’ll start right now with my essays. Do call me when you get these, Fizzy. I don’t know many people here yet, and it’s killing me how much I miss our discussions. I hope you won’t stay mad at me forever... Love you.” Click.

After coming home to those messages, I’d called back right away. A week of silence was too much already. Two boys with parents on the brink of separation— we’d never needed each other more.

I sighed. Now it seemed I needed him more than he needed me. But... I supposed that wasn’t too bad a thing. Having taken my notebook with me, I sketched in my new journal things I’d seen in the park, my friends, and my brother. I tried to sketch my father, but I remembered so little of him. I wasn’t going to ask Ambrose for pictures; partly because I didn’t want to see our father’s face that much, and partly because Ambrose had taken it harder than anyone, and I didn’t want to stir up memories and emotions.

And on a whim, I sketched that woman in teal I’d seen, whom I'd decided to call Mystique. A peculiar feeling in my mind told me there was more than met the eye.

A rustle of leaves a distance off disturbed me from thought. I looked up as something passed my periphery. And there was Mystique. She could be a neighbor, oblivious to me, and yet I strolled along the path parallel to the tree she’d leaned against. She followed.

I continued on toward the road. Mystique kept a fair distance, but her direction wasn’t far off from mine. Once I crossed the street, I lost her, but then she showed up on the other side still 20 yards behind. A professional. Or perhaps not? The best don’t let you see them unless they want you to know they’re watching. And if whoever it was wanted me to know, why?

I headed down an alley and waited, catching my breath. Nothing. I furrowed my brow. Mystique had disappeared. She knew it’d been a trap. Or she hadn’t been following me in the first place.

But no. How?

I grabbed my phone and called Ambrose. His mobile, of course, went to voicemail.

“Hello! You’ve reached Anonymous. If I know you, leave a message, and I’ll call back when I’m able. If not, congratulations! You’ve somehow managed to get my number. Now delete it.” BEEP!

I chuckled half amusedly at the new message he’d recorded. “Hey, I like the new voice message. It’s funnier. Er... Yeah... Ambrose, I know it’s only been an hour or so, but I think I’m being followed. By a woman. Walking her dog. I don’t know; it sounds ridiculous, but I know— at least I hope — I’m not paranoid. I saw her at the airport maybe, and then the tea place earlier, and when we got home from the airport. I lured her toward and alley, and she disappeared after keeping on my tail... There’s also a camera from the street pointed at me, but... It really could be nothing, but... Yeah, call me back when you get this. Or don’t. When you can. Don’t make too much trouble is what I’m saying.” I ran my tongue along my cheek and sighed.

After I pressed ‘one’, the machine droned, “If you’re satisfied with the message press one, to listen to your message press two. To erase and rerecord press three. To continue recording where you left off press four.”

I looked about. My finger hovered over the buttons. First, it had been at the airport, then the tea shop near the secret door, and now she’d shown up twice here, at home. Coincidence? Really? I knew better. My intuition told me better.

I sent the message and walked back home. Hopefully Ambrose knew who she was.

Chapter 4

A few months ago, Ambrose couldn’t have imagined he’d be back here with Constance and his brother in the same city. Granted, there were hills to cross, and their relationship had a ways to go to heal, but it was a start.

He was concerned, though. Fitz providing intel and dismantling the syndicate could’ve hindered more than helped, but Ambrose didn’t want to worsen things by closing him off. He wanted to feel useful, and Ambrose couldn’t blame him.

And how would Fitz feel about Constance being around more often or their cousins’ presence? Only time could tell. Without Ambrose or Darcy’s friends around, loneliness would inevitably creep in. George worked from home and Alice came home at three, but even that did little to ease Ambrose’s concern. George had his job. It would be much like spending the day alone. His little brother would need to manage, which shouldn’t have been too bad. Being alone for periods was normal. But after so much time alone, and a little quiet was a lot. Ambrose felt bad about going into work.

As he neared headquarters, Ambrose replayed the phone call in his head.

Someone tried to access Devereux’s file using an MI6 employee. The analyst is fine. He told us he’s not sure if they accessed the file since the logs have been tampered with. And though, we have a description, we’re not entirely sure.

Ambrose had no idea why Sabrina was involved. People died the last time she’d interfered. She couldn’t come near his brother.

Had he the clearance, he would have told Fitz. It might’ve kept him safer... or put him in further danger. Either way, they said he couldn’t know. If Ambrose didn’t follow protocol to the letter, there was every chance he’d be suspended or even be taken off his assignment to his brother.

Lost in thought since he’d left the house, Ambrose had driven to work without thinking about the route and found himself parked in front of MI6. “Damn.” He looked about. Sometimes he scared himself. He needed to be more alert.

The glass building reflected the sunlight, painting a picture of the city like an Impressionist painting. It was a fortress. 25 different types of glass, triple-glazed, bomb-proof, and bullet-proof, it was very secure. As soon as he entered the doors, Ambrose turned off his phone and his mind shifted toward Orbis and his agents while his eyes darted around the place. It was nearly two months since he’d been back here. It was not much different though.

Security checked his pass and confiscated his phone. Then as the elevator rose he watched the floors come and go. Hubert tweaked gadgets in the R&D department. Analysts perched on swiveling chairs eyes trained on the computer. Elsie took apart a hard drive. Handlers were on the phone, in contact with informants agents, and government officials. Those who had a bit more sun evident on their skin suggested they were investigators who went out of the office more often. The elevator collected his colleagues with whom he made small talk. Then he stepped out on one floor for the check-in the agency. Knowing the state of their employees ensured security for the agency and their constituents. Afterward, he dropped the uplink off at IT with Elsie and headed to Harrow’s office.

Penny ushered him in while a few people left.

“In light of this morning’s meeting, how’s your brother?” Harrow waved towards the chair and they sat.

“In what way?”

“In many ways, which I think we’re both concerned about.”

He cocked his head. “It’s only the beginning. I can’t tell much for certain. He’s concerned, but he’s not backing down.”

“He’s got quite the tongue.”

Ambrose chuckled. “He doesn’t beat around the bush.” It was inappropriate at times, but Ambrose appreciated someone was saying the things he wanted to say but was restricted to thought.

“Can we trust him?”

“Of course.”

“Even to keep it discrete?”

“Er—” He quirked his brow. “I think he understands the gravity of the situation and the drastic difference from previous circumstances. He knows it’s important regardless of his feelings.”

“Good. Keep it that way. And how is he handling the rest?”

Ambrose sighed. “It’s too soon to—”

“I’m asking you because you’re his brother. Surely you know what’s going on in that mind of his.”

“Well, he’s...”

“Doubtful.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yet you’re usually blunt about these sorts of things yourself.”

Ambrose rubbed his face. “He’s not happy with the plan, but he’s determined to see this through. It’s delicate. Our uncle was violent and abusive. That sort of life isn’t easy to recover from, and it’s a big adjustment. Everything’s different. Approaching certain subjects with caution is necessary.”

“You said we could work with him.” Harrow leaned back.

“And we can. But... Not all at once, not always. I’ll read the circumstances. I don’t want him to overexert himself either after what happened, and he’s not always in the best state.”

“I understand. When will you debrief him?”

“I’ll give the day to settle and then see if we can use what he knows for Dover. Maybe tomorrow. Or after. Abner said to give him time, gauge it by the day.”

“Where?”

“I was thinking under the house. Discrete. Out of sight. No one to listen. It’s secure. No one will know.”

“Very well. I’ll set up the access to the database there. Keep me apprised.”

“Of course”

“Oh, and about the break-in, if Sabrina is involved, you’ll be the first to know. After all, she was your operative.”

“Right.”

They exchanged a firm shake to end the meeting.

Ambrose went down to his office afterward. It was a room in the corner with a window that faced the Thames. Dark brown antique desk over a blue rug, and a thin leather office chair. To the side was a couch and a coffee table. His hand propped against his temple. He had to contact the agents he’d recruited all over the world in different terrorist organizations and a radical political organization. Three people with life-threatening information held the key to a safer world. They had to extract one of them from the Middle East soon. And he needed to make contact with another potential asset. He rubbed his face and removed his reading glasses.

Then his pager beeped.

He furrowed his brow. Ambrose hadn’t expected something this soon, yet he wasn’t surprised. His brother had left a voicemail. At first, it seemed to be nothing at all, a check-in, and then Ambrose stood as he reached the middle of the message. Someone was following Fitz.

His brother had sent a photo too—a sketch.

Ambrose’s spin shivered as he dropped the pager. It was her.

“This is not good.” Ambrose made sure Fitz was home and safe before he went to Harrow’s office.

“I need to see him. It’s urgent.”

“All right, but he’s in a meeting right now. I’ll need to ask.”

“Fine.”

“Sir, it’s Ambrose—”

“Send him in.”

Penny gestured to the door.

“Thank you.” Ambrose walked in. “Stevie, hello.”

“Ambrose, are you all right?”

“Yes, what’s going on?” Harrow raised an eyebrow.

“Fitz called me. It’s getting more dangerous. With the break-in, and now Sabrina following us since this morning at the airport. I don’t know why I didn’t see her before.” He was slipping.

“Sabrina? She’s resurfaced?” Harrow stood.

“Apparently. Maurice’s death and my brother’s recent actions must’ve triggered it.”

“Well, it’s clear she only wants him to see her. She did betray you.”

“And shot me, yes.”

“Has she perhaps aligned herself with Orbis this time?”

“Never. She was the best and most unpredictable agent I ever recruited. She doesn’t align herself with people. She uses them. If she’s watching Fitz, she intends to use him for her purposes, and now she may know that he’s an agent.”

“Whether she’s with Orbis or against it, we can use her in turn all the same.”

“No. What—”

“Orbis the only thing he’s knowledgeable enough about to warrant that much attention, and we can use that.”

“This is Fitz we’re talking about. He should stay away from her.”

“Well, better for her to come to him if he has something she wants.”

“No, no, no, I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

“Then get on the bloody page, Ambrose! May I remind you, it’s more than your brother at stake here.”

“And may I remind you Fitz is my ward in my care. I can pull him out of this at any time if it is in his best interest.”

Stevie harrumphed. “Ambrose, your brother chose to go down this path. Yes, it’s dangerous, but though the risk is there, we’ve got his back.”

“I know, but we can’t underestimate Sabrina so casually.”

“We’ll put a tail on her and keep an eye out.”

“Like she won’t spot it.”

“If she does, she can’t do more than lose it or risk making her play.”

“I know.”

“You also know she won’t harm your brother. He’s too valuable. There would be no sense in it.”

“But she might use him to bargain, and I’m not—”

“He can handle himself.” Harrow gestured.

“He shouldn’t have to! He’s 17 for God’s sake! How am I the only one thinking about that?” Ambrose shouted.

Stevie looked aside.

Harrow cleared his throat.

They exchanged a glance.

“We’ll increase surveillance in case she tries anything. He should be fine.”

Ambrose shook his head. He wasn’t getting anywhere. They wouldn’t back down, but they’d take extra measures. It was something. Fitz would put up a fight if he tried shutting this down. “All right, then. I’m sure Fitz will let me know if she approaches him.”

“Good—”

“I would also like the clearance to brief him on Sabrina and the current situation. He can’t be in the dark like this. It’s too dangerous.”

Harrow cocked his head. “Your brother tends to react on impulse, especially when he feels threatened. The more information he has, the more he is capable of doing. Chicago is an example of that. He seems to see rules and protocols as suggestions.”

“Not entirely. Those were delicate circumstances. Lives were at stake. He wouldn’t have broken protocol unless it were life or death, and Chicago would’ve been a disaster if he hadn’t gotten involved in that way.”

“A singular circumstance that cannot be repeated.”

“I am his handler, am I not?”

“Yes, but it is clear you cannot control him all the time.”

“Neither would I like to. He is a human being.”

“With vital information everyone’s after.”

“Harrow, we can trust him with this. He needs to know who he’s dealing with.”

“Why? You know. Isn’t that enough? You said he’s sensitive. We need him focused on the matter at hand. Less to think of will help. And if he knows who she is, he can spook her and rush the plan. She thinks he doesn’t know her like you do and wants to shape his impression. If he knew, out of respect for you, he might be less inclined to work with her or jump the gun.”

“I’m less inclined to work with her. That doesn’t affect my job.”

“You know your place, Ambrose. You do what’s expected of you. Whether your brother does remains to be seen.”

Ambrose curled his fingers and took in a breath. It was a losing battle, and arguing with his superiors never really got him anywhere. Letting anger manifest wouldn’t improve matters. Although... If he could sock Harrow once! Stevie wore a sympathetic expression. Ambrose sensed she knew Harrow was right in a way. Damn. Was no one on his side?

“So what do I tell him?”

“What do you suppose?”

“She’s dangerous, to stay away, and all else is classified.”

“Good enough. He knows only what he needs to do his job, and this is exactly what he needs to know. Sabrina’s file is sealed. He doesn’t need to know what’s in it.”

“Understood.”

Ambrose returned to his office and plopped behind his desk with a sigh. Things had gotten a lot more complicated quicker than he’d predicted, and it had his mind doing loops. His brother hadn’t seemed too worried, and talking in person was more secure than a phone call, so their discussion could wait until lunch.

Much like his brother, Ambrose needed a distraction in the meantime. He received files on the IRA’s recent activity. The whole operation with the Japanese arms group was too big to be orchestrated alone. He’d brief Fitz on it. He had to be careful, though, since any of this Orbis business had the potential to trigger Fitz. If it was too much from an emotional standpoint... Ambrose would reassess. He would not let his brother drive him to the point of exhaustion nor be kept too out of the loop.

“Therein lies the challenge.”

Chapter 5

After heading home, I’d nodded off and awoke to my phone sounding a text. Ambrose had parked in front of the house. He hadn’t thought much of my call then. I pursed my lips. And then my hand went to my forehead. “Oh, it’s 12:30.” I lurched out of bed, but my numb legs took me to the floor unexpectedly. “Ow,” I rasped. “My back.” Rainy weather aggravated the old scars.

“Fitz?” Ambrose called from the front door.

I slowly picked myself up, eyes watering at the excruciating pain. “Damn.” I took a few ibuprofen and despite the pain clumsily rubbed the capsaicin cream on my back. It made my skin tingle and burn a bit, but it numbed the nerves. Better than getting drugged up. I needed to be alert these days. Finding some stability, I pulled on some beige trousers and shrugged on the dress shirt. Then I plopped onto the ground and my eyes settled on the brown Oxfords. A huff of laughter left me as I put my hands in the shoes. It took my mind back.

“Darcy, I need to go to work. Stop playing with my shoes.” My father laughed and chased after me.

“Catch me, Daddy. Catch me.” I giggled and ran about with the oversized shoes on my hands.

“Dear Lord, you’re quick.”

“Woah!”

He swept me into his arms. “Gotcha.”

I squealed in laughter.

“Shoes? Thank you.” He pecked me on the forehead before putting me down and tying his shoes. “Maybe one day you’ll be fast enough to chase me, eh? You’re growing so much, you know. I wonder if you’ll be an athlete of some sort.”

I dropped the shoes and slumped against the wall on the floor, forcing out a breath. Couldn’t tell if it was a sob or a laugh. Not the right time for old memories. I shut my eyes. Lunch. I needed to go. Ambrose was waiting... But the more I sat there, the more I thought back, the heavier I breathed. My hands tremored, cold, and clammy. My chest burned. The shirt hung loosely on my shoulders. I needed to go. I forced a longer breath in, coughing. I tried to finish my shirt, but my fingers kept missing the buttonhole in the shirt. My eyes pricked. I needed a minute. One minute.

“Fitz, what’s—” Ambrose had walked in.

I flinched. Shit. I’d taken too long. Bad.

“What’s wrong?” He strode over and crouched.

Me. “The... The shirt... Buttons. I can’t...” You didn’t have a problem yesterday.

He moved to hug me.

I shifted. “Hmmn, no.” Normally I would’ve hugged him for dear life, but everything hurt, and right now being touched would be too much. My senses were too loud.

“All right, Fizzy.” He kept a calm, neutral tone.

“I just...”

“It’s going to be all right. I’m here,” he murmured. “You’re safe. Whatever it is, I’m here. I’ll help.”

I sniffled. A few sobs made it out. It had been happening a great deal since I woke up a month ago. The memories, the moods, the constant breaking down. I kept trying to hold it together, hide it, but to no avail. It was merely overwhelming sometimes. Being more upset than I’d previously allowed myself to be.

“I love you. I’m here. I know you’re not okay right now, and that’s all right. You’re allowed to feel like this. We don’t need to go anywhere right now. I’m going to stay, and you can take your time. It’s okay.”

The words... So simple, and yet they erased half my thoughts. I nodded, managing a smoother breath. Streams of tears ran down my cheeks.

My brother kept whispering gentle words. I lost myself in the white noise he created. I sonn calmed.

Ambrose watched me in concern.

“Well.” I glanced at my shirt. Panicking because of buttons and shoes. Lovely. I sighed and leaned my head against the wall. And that was why I didn’t think about the past too much. What hidden weight dusty memories had. Sometimes they had no effect, other times they pulled me down a rabbit hole.

“Panic attack?”

“I don’t know.”

“May I?”

“Be my guest.”

Ambrose scooted closer and fastened my shirt buttons. My shirt tugged slightly. “There.” He pressed a small smile.

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Okay.” I grabbed his hand to pull myself up, restraining a groan.

“Your jacket.”

I shrugged it on gingerly and tucked in my shirt. “Er...”

“What, Fizzy? What do you need?”

“Could you... Could you help me with the shoes?” I looked away, fidgeting. My back still pinched needles, and my migraine was on the way. “I— I would, but—”

“As you wish.” He tied the laces with studied precision. “There.”

“Thank you.” I hugged him, grasping him like he was an anchor.

He held my head. “All right?”

“A bit.”

Ambrose hugged me tighter.

I sniffled.

“Okay.” He kissed my head and ran his fingers through my hair.

And for a while, I got lost in that. The safety. It was all I’d wished for ages ago, even a few months ago. Now that I had it, I never got used to it. I never wanted to let go.

Realizing I was nearly sleeping, I drew away, slowly blinking. I shut my eyes for a few seconds. They were so heavy.

“You’re tired.”

“I need a distraction.”

“You need sleep—”

“I hate sleep.”

“Fitz.” He sighed.

“I do.”

He pressed his lips, his eyes compassionate. “I know.”

We stood there a while again.

“We have lunch.”

“You still need rest.”

“After.”

He rubbed his face. “Fitz.”

“Please? I need- I need- I need something going right today.”

He scratched his head, looking at me in consideration. “All right. Come along, then.”

I flipped on my gentleman’s cap and strangled a whimper as my back straightened.

Ambrose glanced at me.

“Fine,” I wheezed. “I took something.”

“Okay.”

When we got in the car, I shut my eyes and tried to distract myself with breathing for a while. My brother drove smoothly enough that I barely noticed the movement. When Dr. Abner cleared me, Ambrose would teach me how to drive. I could take my theory test in the middle of May.

At lunch I had to make a good impression on three people. Stevie, I knew professionally, Constance mostly by mention, Matthew, Stevie’s husband— a complete mystery. A great deal to account for. Class. With class and charm. I was good at that. That was essential. But... I had to keep all my anxieties out of sight. No lack of confidence or intelligence. Very essential.

“You’ll be all right. Stop overthinking. They’ll like you.”

“I’m not overthinking.”

“Says the man drumming the Bolero on his knee.”

I quirked the corner of my lip.

“Look, however it goes, I’ll be there, and you know what to say if you need me.”

“I’ll be okay, Ambrose.”

“I know.” He squeezed my hand.

“Are you okay?”

He glanced at me. “I, er... I got your message.”

“And?”

Ambrose took in a shallow breath. “I’m not allowed to say much.”

“Oh.”

“She’s dangerous. Immensely so. Trying to force her hand wasn’t very wise.”

“I was careful.”

“I know, but... Don’t do it again, all right? Promise.” He glanced at me.

“Fine. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“You want me to stay away, don’t you?”

“It would put me more at ease if you did.”

“But they’re keeping an eye on her regardless?”

He stopped at the light.

“Right. Classified.”

“I’m sorry. It’s all I can say.”

“I understand. They think it’s smarter to keep me in the dark, but I’ve lived in the shadows long enough to know what’s going on whether or not I’m informed. At least you have my back.”

“As much as I can.”

“If you’re wary of her and she’s bad news... Why don’t they let you tell me who she is? And more importantly... Why am I still here? No, wait. I think I know. They’re watching her, in case she gives up a lead because they don’t know what she’s after or who she’s working with, and I’m not in too much danger, so I’m not going on the run yet. They didn’t let you tell me because they thought I couldn’t handle it properly. And further inference, you two have a past, and if I knew, they think I’d side with you out of respect and avoid doing whatever they have planned.”

“Fitz.”

“It’s fine. I know you would tell me if you could. Merely thinking aloud.”

“I don’t like it either, but... Harrow is firm on the matter. It wouldn’t be of use to get suspended for subordination, so I dropped it.”

“We’ll manage, I suppose.”

My gaze surveyed the street we’d parked on. I narrowed my eyes. There was Mystique again, glowing cigarette in hand as she leaned against a lamp post. No dog. We saw each other.

“Coming?”

“Hm? Yeah.”

Ambrose looked at where I’d been looking. Mystique had gone as I’d predicted. But he seemed on edge all the same.